The Shadow Collector Read Online Free PDF Page A

had just finished washing up after the homemade soup he’d made with the slug-infested cabbage provided: it had tasted
     foul, as expected, but there wouldhave been no entertainment in success. He dried his hands on the damp tea towel, thinking that he needed to get out for a
     while. Away from the shabby farmhouse, the ubiquitous cameras and the man who was destined to share his life for the next
     week until the final fateful decision was made and the victor of
Celebrity Farm
crowned. At least, unlike in some reality shows, the contestants had the run of the farm when they weren’t actually filming,
     and the crew were taking a break in the back parlour, playing cards as they always did, so if he went out now the cameras
     weren’t likely to follow him up to the far field. Even though he was wary of the sheep, it was worth the risk of being mobbed
     by an unpredictable woolly audience for a slice of precious privacy.
    He walked into the kitchen, heading for the back door, and found Zac James sitting at the scrubbed pine table. He looked gaunt,
     almost ill, with his pallid skin and his bleached blond hair, and the posing wanker was wearing his dark glasses indoors as
     usual. Zac was so engrossed in his iPhone that he didn’t look up. He wasn’t supposed to have the phone and Rupert wondered
     how he’d managed to get hold of it, but he wasn’t in the mood to ask questions. Besides, Zac looked edgy and beads of sweat
     were forming on his forehead. Rupert assumed his coke habit was responsible. But that was really none of his business.
    Fearing there might be a hidden camera left running somewhere, he fixed a wide grin to his face. ‘Hi, Zac, I’m just nipping
     out to see a man about a sheepdog.’ When Zac ignored his feeble quip he hurried into the hallway, pulled on a pair of green
     wellingtons and stepped outside.
    He passed the barn where he’d been filmed earlier throwing feed to a trio of bored-looking hens and openedthe metal gate to freedom before tramping across a muddy field, his feet squelching into earth softened by days of relentless
     drizzle. Then another gate, and another, until he was climbing the grassy hillside dotted with grazing sheep. From this higher
     ground he could look down on the house and the outbuildings and if the grass beneath his feet hadn’t been wet, he would have
     sat down and spent a leisurely half hour watching the comings and goings of the crew and the people who lived in the elegant
     Georgian house next door – the house that had once been the village Rectory but was now home to some author he’d never heard
     of. But instead of enjoying the view, Rupert began to wander up towards the top of the field. The hedge was too tall to see
     over but there was an old metal gate in a gap further along, secured with a rusted padlock which clearly hadn’t been used
     for decades. When he reached the gate he stopped and peered over at the sloping land on the other side. The grass was tall
     and there was a dark copse of trees halfway down the hill. Around three hundred yards away, just before the land started to
     rise again, he could see the pink cottage tucked into the hollow, half hidden by trees and vegetation.
    He knew what the place was. He could hardly forget because he’d been in West Fretham at the time the girls vanished. He saw
     a wisp of smoke rising from the cottage chimney. He’d heard Lilith Benley was due for release on licence and he’d wondered
     whether she’d have the gall to return to her old home. Now it looked as though she had.
    He stood staring at the cottage for a while but when he turned his head he glimpsed a flash of red on the ground further up
     the field. The woman he’d seen earlier walking down the lane had been wearing a red coat. He’d noticed her because she’d looked
     so out of place, as if she shouldhave been in a fashionable London street rather than walking in the Devon countryside.
    Now here she was in the field with him;